Taking Cover (Wingmen Warriors 2)

Not mellow enough to iron out his irritation.

Before, in his VOQ room, Kathleen O'Connell had shed her compassion like unwanted cargo. With cool professionalism she'd helped him dress beneath the privacy of the blanket. He might as well have been a eunuch for all the effect the awkward situation had on her.

Then she'd grounded his sorry, sweatpants-clad butt and parked him in the infirmary—indefinitely. If he had to watch one more minute of the Armed Forces Television Services, his head would explode.

He tried not to think about his crew flying without him. What if the next mission carried the golden BB, the missile that took them down when he wasn't there? How the hell would he live with wondering if he could have prevented it? Not more than a couple of hours ago, the television had announced a C-17 crash out in California. If something like that could happen on a routine mission…

The television show changed to a service announcement full of holiday cheer. "Jingle Bells" or maybe "Silver Bells" swelled into the room. His twin sister had loved carols—

Tanner silenced the television with a thumb jab to the remote.

Definitely too much time to think.

Losing a family member sucked no matter what. Losing that person during the holidays carried an extra burden. The anniversary of her death never slid by without notice.

Tara had been Christmas shopping at the mall, for crying out loud. How could he ever forget that? They'd always gone gift hunting together in the past since his job had been to look out for her.

That Christmas he'd been at the Academy.

And some slime in search of a lone female had lurked, waiting in the back seat of Tara's car. The bastard had kidnapped her. Beaten her. Raped her. Then thrown her unconscious body into a snowbank where she'd died. Alone.

Tanner flung aside the remote, welcoming the stab of pain from the violent gesture. Damn drugs had turned him morbid, lowered his defenses until he couldn't halt the flood of memories.

The cops had found Tara's car later, her packages still in the trunk. She'd bought her twin brother a St. Joseph's medal.

Tanner gripped the silver disk around his neck and steadied his breathing. He'd learned a bitter lesson that Christmas—never, never leave your wingman.

A solid knock on the door pulled Tanner back to the present, and he embraced the distraction. He wouldn't have even minded seeing his hard-hearted doctor. "Yeah. Come in.">"Doc, your bedside manner sucks."

Her smile tightened. "Chalk it up to sleep deprivation. Two house calls in less than twelve hours qualifies as more TLC than you're issued, soldier. In the civilian world I could have financed a summer home with the overtime you're demanding."

He might as well have been a freshman again, pumping push-ups over some infraction. She wasn't going to cut him any slack. "And you've opted to take it out of my hide, instead."

"Sounds like a plan to me." She smoothed her already immaculate hair. No sneaky strands slipping loose today, her red mane was swept back into her traditional French braid with the short tail secured under.

Tanner frowned. When had he started noticing how she styled her hair? She'd kept it cropped at the Academy, he remembered that much. Until he'd seen it loose on the flight line, he hadn't given much thought to its longer length hidden inside that braid.

Now he couldn't think of anything but wild red strands wind-whipped around her composed face.

Kathleen uncrossed her feet and flicked on the overhead light. "While the conversation is positively stimulating, I've got other patients to see. Ones who want to get well. Sit up and let's take a look."

"Might as well get it over with." Contracting his stomach muscles toppled a domino effect to his back that left Tanner straining not to whimper like a kid. And now he couldn't get his arm from behind his head.

"Bennett?" Compassion darkened her blue eyes. "You can't sit up, can you?"

He offered silence and no movement as his answer, all the concession his pride would allow. As much as he wanted to snap at her, he couldn't. His innate sense of fair play insisted he'd brought this on himself.

"Time to call for a stretcher." She turned on her heel, her tennis shoes squeaking against the tile.

"No!" Tanner arched up. And promptly fell back, his hoarse groan echoing.

Kathleen closed the space to the bed in three quick steps. "Deep breaths. Look at me, Bennett. Focus and breathe until it passes. Try to relax or you'll make it worse. No need to fight everything in this world, hotshot. There you go, in and out. Breathe."

Her voice talked him down, like flying by instinct when the instruments were shot and he couldn't see beyond the clouds. He locked on the timbre of her throaty voice and let it work through the fog of agony.

"Better?"

"Yes." He offered the clipped word rather than risk even a nod.